It's Time to Say Goodbye
by Wolf of the Aurora
Summary: In honor and memory to everyone that served.
1. It's Time to Say Goodbye

**A/N: In honor to those that served.**

* * *

It's Time to Say Goodbye...

Iowa drove her car onto Berth 87.

"Whoa!" Yamato and Kongou said in awe as they looked out the car window. Outside was the USS _Iowa_ towering higher than the Statue of Liberty. This would be the first time either of them would have seen an _Iowa_ -class battleship in person in their life, whether it'd be this life or their previous one.

Iowa smiled and continued to the parking lot. All three stepped out, revealing that they were wearing casual clothes.

"She is a beauty!" Kongou said as she snapped a couple pictures.

"I sure am!" Iowa jested. "Come on. There's someone that wants to meet you."

Yamato and Kongou traded a brief puzzled look, but followed Iowa to the forward gangplank.

"Hi, Mike," Iowa said as she unhooked the barrier to jump the line.

"Ma'am," he greeted with a friendly smile and salute.

"Is this okay?" Yamato asked. "Don't we have to buy tickets?"

"That'd be like buying tickets to get into your own house," Iowa said. She led her two guests up the gangplank. Before stepping on the deck, she looked to the stern of the ship and saluted. Then she turned to the volunteer in front of her.

"Permission to come aboard?" she asked.

"Permission granted!" he saluted. "Welcome back ma'am."

"I'd hate to be disrespectful, Iowa, but you are in pretty bad condition," Kongou said as they walked along the plywood sheets of the tour route.

"I know," Iowa said solemnly. "Deck's rotted, rust and paint chips everywhere, Turret 2 is still mostly dysfunctional...Hell, I even need new mooring lines. There's a GoFundMe for new lines. I'm surprised there are still people that think I can be called back at a moment's notice. At least fifteen years I spent in Mothballs, deteriorating in Suisun. I'd love to sail the seas again as a ship, but it'd take far too much time and far too much money to even get me to sail under my own power. Me and my sisters are permanently decommissioned and that's that!"

Yamato and Kongou could only stare at the American woman before them. And they were not the only ones.

"I've seemed to have gone on a rant," Iowa chuckled. She turned around and continued along the tour path to the wardroom.

"That long in Mothball?" Yamato wondered to Kongou.

"Yeah, and she said she was threatened to be scrapped at least once."

"I am honestly surprised she had not returned as a Shinkaisei-kan based on the feeling of neglect alone."

Inside the wardroom, just in front of the lounge area, there was girl standing in front of an empty table. She was probably headed into her late teens. She had short light hair and was notably dressed in denim pants and crop top jacket.

"This is the girl that wanted to meet you," she heard Iowa's voice behind her. "Kongou, Yamato, this is-"

"USS Hoel, DD-533," the girl interjected. "This would be the first time we met since October 25, 1944."

The two Japanese shook hands with the destroyer. Hoel didn't continue talking. Instead she looked back at the empty table with a somber look on her face.

"Is there something wrong with her?" Kongou whispered to Iowa.

"One of her surviving crewmembers sat here and talked about his time on Hoel. Especially the Battle off Samar," Iowa whispered back.

"His name was Bob DeSpain," Hoel began. "I was told on June 30th. He was 91 and a half years old to the day. He was with me since the beginning. From shakedown all the way to my sinking. Always clear and got things done. I remember...I remember my blood soaked decks. I remember pain of the chemical burns he sustained. I remember him being selfless as he gave his life vest to someone else. I remember the shock that was felt as he saw the _Yamato_ sail past. I remember...I remember..."

Her voice faltered, tears dripping down her cheeks.

"...And I never got to meet him in my second life!" she wailed. "I never got to apologize! I'm sorry I couldn't do more!"

Iowa held Hoel in a tight embrace as the girl let out all of her emotions as well as those of all her crewmen on that day.

"Do...Do you remember what your crew felt?" Kongou asked Yamato.

"I try not to think about it..." Yamato said, tears forming in her eyes.

"And to think that _we_ were responsible for pummeling a destroyer into oblivion, thinking it was a heavy cruiser. I can't even imagine what that must have been like."

"Don't blame yourselves," Iowa said. "It was war and we were machines. We did as our crew commanded. And I was taken up north on a wild goose chase."

"But if Hoel still blames us-" Yamato began before Iowa cut her off.

"She doesn't. But she still has a hard time dealing with death."

Iowa patted the head of a sniffling Hoel before continuing.

"Even though our ships' spirits live eternal, humans and the bodies that we possess don't. Sometimes it's just time to say 'Goodbye'."

* * *

 **A/N: I've only gotten the honor of meeting Bob DeSpain once when I visited the USS _Iowa_ about a year ago. Saying that I held a conversation with him would be lying since I basically stood there and listened to him tell his stories. To be honest, I was afraid that anything I would want to say or ask might disrespect or offend him.**

 **Some of the information I used in this short story came from the booklet "At Rest, 4,000 Fathoms Under the Waves" which I bought from him. He also signed it! I'm not sure where else this booklet could be found, but it's great if you're interested in learning about the crew of the _Hoel._**

 **At this time, the GoFundMe page about the _Iowa'_ s mooring lines is true. I've done a donation, albeit a small one.**

 **Anyways, feel free to leave a comment or review and I hope to catch you guys and gals later.**


	2. Save My Soul, Please

**A/N: This may be a little different from what I originally planned this collection to be, but I think it's just as important.**

* * *

Save My Soul...Please

There was humming in the air as the returned spirit of USS Kidd leisurely kicked her feet back and forth, paintbrush and palette in hand. Sitting on the banks of the Mississippi in Baton Rouge, she was painting none other than herself. Or her original self; USS _Kidd_ , DD-661.

Kidd was in a pirate get up, complete with a (unloaded) flintlock pistol and tricorn hat atop her brunette hair that she decided to grow out and tie into a messy ponytail.

Several times she was told that her outfit looked like what the Nelson sisters wear. Probably the only major difference is that Kidd dressed much more like a scallywag!

Even though Kidd dresses up like a pirate, she only does it to humor others that think she was named after the pirate.

In reality, she was named after Rear Admiral Isaac C. Kidd, who was the commander of USS _Arizona_ and was killed on that fateful day.

Kidd honors her namesake by wearing Arizona's insignia on her tricorn.

Before the Abyssal War, the woman Kidd possessed was an aspiring painter struggling to get through college. Working several minimum wage jobs to pay off her student loans wreaked havoc on her grades and the paintings she did get finished did not sell.

She was in a deep pit of depression and exhaustion and was only saved when the Abyssals attacked.

Some may be drawing parallels to a certain Austrian.

Luckily, the war did not lead to a terrible economic depression.

Kidd got a full ride to a university of her choosing. She graduated with above average grades, but nothing too spectacular. Now she spends her days painting anything and everything. And they do sell. She does occasionally wonder if her paintings sold because people liked them or because Kidd herself had become a famous hero of the war.

Either way, she made enough money for a living doing what she loves.

Although, she does donate her paintings of USS _Kidd_ to the museum to help their funds.

Then her phone rang.

She pressed a button on her Bluetooth to answer.

"Hello?"

"Kidd, it's Laffey," the destroyer said in an urgent tone.

"Oh, hey, Laffey. What's up?" Kidd asked as she painted away.

"You need to come to Orleck ASAP."

"Why's that?"

Laffey held out her phone and unintelligible sounds came from the _Gearing_ -class.

"Is she...crying?"

"Yes!" Laffey shouted. "And she won't stop!"

"And you can't counsel her?"

"Hey!" Laffey exclaimed. "I may be able to go to hell and punch Satan in the face and come back alive, but I don't know the first thing about comforting a crying _kid_!"

"Alright, just hang on," Kidd said. "I'm in Baton Rouge. I'll be there in a few hours."

* * *

Kidd arrived at the USS _Orleck_ Naval Museum and parked her car next to Laffey's motorcycle. She stepped out of her sedan and onto the dirt roundabout of Calcasieu River. She put on her tricorn and walked to Laffey.

Laffey was standing near the grass. She was wearing a denim crop top jacket and matching pants. She had a black shirt under her jacket as well as black riding boots. Her wavy blonde hair was in a ponytail and it was evident that she didn't bother wearing a helmet. A pair of sunglasses hung on her shirt.

"Where's Orleck?" Kidd asked.

Laffey pointed to a bawling pile in the trees.

"Alright..." Kidd breathed in and began walking to Orleck. "So what are you doing in Louisiana?"

"I wanted to know more about the successor to my class," Laffey said. "And Kennedy Jr. is too self-absorbed in her own popularity. And I don't speak Korean or Taiwanese so I can't just hop over the Pacific to talk to them."

"Taiwanese speak Mandarin," Kidd corrected.

"Whatever," Laffey shrugged. "You and your political correct crap."

Kidd just rolled her eyes. "Well, Benson knows Cantonese and Mandarin. You could ask her to go with you as a translator."

"Now you tell me," Laffey muttered.

It was no secret that Laffey was very crude, impolite, and sometimes just outright disrespectful. However, this woman has _both_ spirits named USS _Laffey_ boiling inside her. So she feels a lot of pain.

Especially when she was nuked.

Twice.

And she lived to tell about it and experienced the acid bath afterwords.

They soon reached Orleck. The _Gearing_ had on a white enlisted sailor uniform complete with a white hat atop her short brown-haired head. There was a pin of the Turkish flag as well as the American flag on her hat. She was still huddled into a ball facing away from them. She was still wimpering, but not as loud as earlier.

"Hey, Orleck. It's me, Kidd." Kidd knelt down next to her and put a hand on her back. "What's the matter?"

Kidd shooed Laffey away with her other hand and the _Benson_ / _Sumner_ -class backed off.

Orleck continued to whimper, but did not move from her position. Kidd continued to comfort her as best as she could.

"There, there."

It took several minutes before Orleck calmed down, but she still didn't show her face to Kidd.

"Here," Kidd said calmly, handing out a bottle of water.

Orleck took several gulps followed by deep breaths.

"Are you alright?"

Orleck shook her head.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm...I...I-I-I-I'm going to be destroyed..." Orleck finally croaked.

Kidd looked onto the decks of the _Orleck_. There were people on the decks and most likely there would be some inside.

"It's a lack of funding," Orleck continued dryly. "Who would visit ship that didn't serve in World War II? Who would visit a little known ship named after a little known man who was captain of _tugboat_ during the war? Of course, he risked his life and did heroic deeds and rescued people so that others may live while he gave his own life."

"Uh..." Kidd tried to talk.

"Maybe I'm just not wanted," Orleck carried on. "Texas didn't want me after Hurricane Rita. Louisiana took me in, but now I'm just...sorta...here."

Tears fell from her eyes and onto the grass.

"I guess that's fine. No one will miss _me_ anyway. But..."

"'But'?" Kidd echoed.

Orleck trembled.

"But I'm not the only one that's at risk here!" Orleck shouted.

"Who is..."

"That's right! You don't know either! Do you?!" Orleck's head whipped around to face Kidd. Streams of tears poured down Orleck's face.

And her usual brown eyes were red. Not from irritation or exhaustion.

But her _irises_ were red and they were _glowing_!

"Do you?!"

Kidd's response escaped her lips before she could stop it as she felt a very faint, but particular aura of despair.

"Abyssal!" Kidd clamped her hand over her mouth as she realized what she just shouted.

"What?!" Laffey exclaimed. She ran towards them and was about to throw her fist at Orleck.

"No, wait!" Kidd ordered.

"Fine, I'll tell you!" Orleck continued as if nothing happened. "DD-446! USS _Radford_! Her museum is aboard my ship! _Radford_ avenged _O'Brien_ and _Wasp_ when she sunk _I-19_. And she rescued survivors from _Helena_ ; a survivor of Pearl Harbor. She used to have her own museum in Ohio. But it was closed down! And I am her second chance!"

Orleck's outburst left her in tears and she began to cry.

"I don't want to go!" she wailed. " _Radford_ doesn't want to go!"

A dark aura began surrounding Orleck and she cried to the heavens.

"Please! Somebody! Save my soul!"

Kidd threw her arms around Orleck and embraced her tightly.

"It's okay! We'll help save you!" Kidd declared.

Laffey relaxed her fist and her face softened.

"Please!" Orleck whimpered. "I don't want to say goodbye!"

"Don't worry! Don't worry!" Kidd said briefly glancing up Laffey. The dark aura faded, but it was still there.

"You don't have to say goodbye."

* * *

 **A/N: Yes, it's true that the _Orleck_ is in danger of being closed down. The museum is running a fundraiser on their website (it's the first result when "USS Orleck" is Googled). It's a lot of money, but if everyone chips in a little, she can make it. The fundraiser ends December 31, 2018.  
**

 **Please share this news so they can get as much support as possible to help them save their ship.**


	3. Farewell and Thank You

**A/N: Better late than never...**

* * *

"Farewell and Thank You"

October 13, 2017...

There she was, silently weeping atop USS _Iowa_ 's Turret 1. It pained her so much, being an immortal spirit, as she can only watch as those dear to her pass on.

Iowa was sitting on the turret roof, hugging her legs as she wept into her lap.

"Iowa?"

The Shipgirl looked up and saw the two blonde heads of New Jersey and Wisconsin, along with the brunette head of Missouri, as they climbed onto the turret. Iowa stood up and let her sister ships walk to her.

"We got the news…" New Jersey said solemnly. Missouri and Wisconsin echoed the feeling through their body language.

"He was sure dear to all of us," Missouri said.

"He helped fit the antennas on me in time for Vietnam," New Jersey reminisced.

"He directed designing for your '80s retrofit," Wisconsin added. "Which was later used on all of us."

"He helped reactivate us all," Missouri said. "Gave us a second chance in a time when battleships are obsolete."

"He founded DREADNAUGHT COUNSELING," Iowa said. "Dedicated to saving battleships from scrap."

The three younger sisters looked at their lead.

"He…He saved me from scrap," Iowa said with a teary smile. "He helped make me a museum ship."

"Naval Architect," New Jersey said.

"Long Beach Naval Ship Yard Legend," Wisconsin added.

"Our friend," Missouri finished.

All four sisters looked up and held their arms up to the heavens. Each of them had a handful of soft flower petals.

"Mr. Richard Langraff…" Iowa said.

"Farewell," they all said with smiles.

They opened their hands, the white petals floating away on the wind.

"And thank you."


	4. Dig Hill 80

Dig Hill 80

* _Scuffling noise as a camera is placed facing its user_.*

Hey, guys. It's Belfast again.

Sorry for not uploading in a while. University is kicking my butt and finals are coming up. But I cramped in some time because I think this is important.

It is "Dig Hill 80."

Hill 80 was a German entrenched observation position during the Great War. It is located in Vit…Witj…Wijtsha…Wijtschate?

* _Someone says something in another room off camera._ *

It's pronounced how? Just say Whitesheet? Sorry, guys. Orion says to just say "Whitesheet." Feel free to comment the correct pronunciation.

Anyways, Hill 80 was a German entrenched observation position during World War I and it is located in "Whitesheet," Belgium. It's a little south of Ypres.

It is an extremely well preserved battlefield with artifacts and bodies of soldiers from both sides that have been there since 1918.

The archeologists have started a Kickstarter campaign called "Dig Hill 80: Excavating an Endangered WWI Battlefield."

If this project gets funded – and I sure hope it gets funded – we will be able to uncover more secrets of the Great War. We will also be able to give these soldiers a proper burial.

However, it is an "All or nothing" fundraiser. Meaning, if they do not reach their goal, no funds will go into the project.

As of the time of this recording, it is late night on 11th of December, 2017, there are five days left. By the time this goes up, it'll be four days left.

So, please. Please donate if you can. Even if it is only one pound, or one dollar, or one of whatever currency you use. If you can't donate, please spread the word. They will take any support they can get.

Sorry for the short notice, but I just found out.

This is for a good cause and I know the Great War vets will appreciate it, too.

* _Orion is seen in the doorway, a soft smile on her face._ *

Take care folks.

* _Belfast reaches out and shuts the camera off_.*


	5. Remember Them All

Remember Them All

September 2, 2018

Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.

A crowd of Shipgirls gathered on the fantail of the USS _Missouri_. While there were some extra guests, most of them were the reincarnations of all the ships in the US Navy's Task Force 38 at the end of World War II. They all stood orderly and proper facing aft in their dress uniforms. From port to starboard, stood the aircraft carriers, the light carriers, the battleships, the heavy and light cruisers, and the destroyers.

Submarine tender, Proteus (AS-19), stood at the front of the group with Shioi (I-401). The Japanese submarine Kanmusu wore a formal black jacket with a white shirt beneath it, and a black pencil skirt, and black flats. Her hair was still tied in a ponytail with her signature ribbon.

Facing the large group was a smaller group separated in three distinct sections. From starboard to port were Ranger (CV-4), Hancock (CV-19), Wasp (CV-18) New Mexico (BB-40), and Maryland (BB-46). Next were Slipjack (SS-184), Gunnel (SS-253), Dentuda (SS-335), and Carp (SS-338). Finally, Intrepid (CV-11) and Oriskany (CV-34).

Off to the side near the railing stood New Jersey along with TF 38's Destroyer Squadron 25; Ringgold (DD-500), Shroeder (DD-501), Harrison (DD-573), John Rodgers (DD-574), McKee (DD-575), Murray (DD-576), and Dashiell (DD-659). Each destroyer girl had an M14 and stood in ceremonial rest.

Ranger walked up to the podium set in the center of the two groups.

"I thank you all for coming," Ranger began. "We stand here today to honor the memory of Senator John McCain. I know what some of you think about politicians, but like his father and grandfather before him, he was a navy veteran. John S. "Slew" McCain, Sr. was one of my commanders before the war. He would later assume command of Task Force 38 and become a four-star admiral. John S. "Jack" McCain, Jr. was a successful submarine commander and would later become a four-star admiral just like his father. They were both present for the signing of the Japanese surrender."

"His son, while not having an outstanding military career like his father and grandfather, he was a true maverick with a strong constitution. With his lineage, he could basically get the safest job in the navy, but he requested to be put into combat. He flew A-4's off of Intrepid and Nuclear E, and almost got himself killed when trying to rescue a fellow pilot during the Forrestal's fire. After recovering from his injuries, he went right back out again with Oriskany where he would ultimately get shot down and captured. But he kept his resolve. Despite having the chance to be released early, he did not leave the rest of his fellow Americans prisoners-of-war.

"Regardless of whether you are blue or red, white or black, or anything else you can think of, we are here to honor a fellow veteran. Captain John S. McCain III. Farewell, sir, and Godspeed.

"And as today is the 73rd anniversary of the signing of the surrender, we will also honor all who gave their lives in the Pacific War."

Ranger stepped off the podium, and returned to her spot next to Hancock.

"Detail," New Jersey commanded at DESRON 25. "Attention! Ready!"

The seven Shipgirls pivoted and brought their rifles up in unison.

"Release safety!"

All seven safeties clicked off simultaneously.

"Aim! Fire!"

 _Bang!_

"Ready!"

They racked the charging handles.

"Aim! Fire!"

 _Bang!_

"Ready!"

They racked the charging handles.

"Aim! Fire!"

 _Bang!_

"Ready!"

They racked the charging handles.

"Present arms!"

In unison, the destroyer girls pivoted back to their original position and held their rifles, pointed straight up, in front of them.

Arizona raised her trumpet, put it to her lips, and began to play the 24 notes of Taps.

* * *

 **A/N: Please keep this politics free.**

 **Just some side notes. I included Shioi because there is a picture of the last meeting between McCain Sr. and McCain Jr. on Proteus with what looks like an I-400-class submarine in the background mostly hidden by the railing. I made Arizona the trumpeter because, to my knowledge, historically her band had won a competition.**

 **Also, the USS Orleck Museum still needs all help she can get. Any amount of contribution, whether it's donating $1 or spreading the word, will help greatly. You can donate on their website (orleck . org [remove the spaces]), donate by mail, or by person if you visit the ship.**


	6. The Centennial

**A/N: In honor to all who fought, served, and worked during World War I.**

* * *

The Centennial

The tension and frustration in the room was palpable.

Battlecruiser HMS Lion sat on the couch. She was hunched over, rubbing her hands together. Her heel bobbed up and down, rapidly clicking against rug-covered hardwood. Lion's eyes moved from left to right and back again as she tracked Battlecruiser SMS Seydlitz.

Seydlitz paced in front of Lion, her heals clicking on the hardwood floor. Her head searched the floor, then the ceiling, and back to the floor. Her hands spasmed as they opened, closed, and everything in between.

Finally, Seydlitz stopped and hunched her back.

"Maybe we're overthinking this," she admitted in defeat.

"There's no way we can overthink this," Lion said. "It's the centennial of end of The Great War! There's gotta be something more we can do!"

"We and our _Kameraden_ have done our ceremonies, we visited every conceivable memorial, and we paid our respects at every Great War grave we could've possibly gone to. All within a couple of hours."

"There's gotta be something else!" Lion stood up. "Like…Like a movie, or a book! Or-!"

Seydlitz put her index finger on Lion's lips. "It's far too late for something like that."

The wide-eyed English Shipgirl blinked and finally deflated.

"You're right," she said.

Seydlitz studied the battlecruiser's face. Lion was absolutely crestfallen. Her eyes were watering. All Lion needed were a pair of drooping dog ears.

 _So adorable!_ Seydlitz smiled.

"Come on," Seydlitz said. "We honored those who fought and worked during the war for everyone in the world five times over. It's time to look forward once again."

"Okay."

"It's 20:45. Want to get some supper?"

"Sure." Lion nodded, joy coloring her face once more.

Both Shipgirls grabbed their coats and walked out the door.

"You know, I'm grateful," Lion said.

"Why's that?" Seydlitz asked.

"To be alive for this moment. To witness the 100th anniversary of one of the most important marks in human history. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

* * *

 **A/N: The last line basically sums up my thoughts. I feel like I'm trivializing the horrors and brutality of World War I when I think this way, but can't shake that feeling of happiness(?). I don't think that's the right word, but I think I got my point across.**

 **I wish I could've done more for this centennial.**

 **Take care, everyone.**


	7. George Kramer

George Kramer

Nevada walked down the path to the front door. She was in her dress uniform. Her awards she received during the Abyssal War and the Second World War were displayed on her left breast. The person standing by the open door saw Nevada's nametag and allowed her admittance, and the Shipgirl removed her hat before entering.

Nevada walked into the heavy atmosphere of a memorial service. It was not packed like what you see in movies, but it was not empty either. Nevada weaved through the guests catching the occasional low hum of whispers.

She reached the living room to find the family of the house sitting with Iowa, in her dress blues, and a volunteer of the Battleship _IOWA_ Museum. They talked in quiet voices, and one of the family members handed something to Iowa.

Iowa perked up and did a double take before looking at Nevada. Iowa exchanged a few more words, then slowly got up and approached Nevada.

"I'm sorry, Nevada!" Iowa said in a hushed voice. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her nose was dripping. She was lucky she had an aversion to face makeup.

Nevada looked up at the taller Shipgirl and pulled out a small tissue packet. Iowa nodded her thanks, quietly blew her nose, then wiped her newly formed tears with a fresh tissue.

"Sorry for what?" Nevada asked, her voice conforming to the ambience of the house.

"I thought George Kramer was one of your old crew," Iowa admitted. "He was actually Army."

"You thought I would be mad at you?" Nevada gave Iowa a slight head tilt and a confused raised eyebrow.

"That was my thought process, yes."

"Well, you said he was Army. A World War II vet?" Nevada asked.

Iowa nodded.

"Why don't you tell me about him?"

"Before enlisting, George was a construction worker – a riveter," Iowa began. "He built ships. He helped built me! Look!"

Iowa showed Nevada a rusting and corroding rivet.

"It's one of my old rivets! After completing me he enlisted into the Army and fought in Europe, including the Battle of the Bulge. Maybe even D-Day."

"Maybe." Thinking back to her past life, Nevada shuddered. "But why do you think I would be angry? This means a lot to you. Both George and me."

"I thought he was one of your old crew that helped built me," Iowa said. "I'm sorry! I forgot his name!"

"It's okay." Nevada allowed Iowa to quietly cry onto her shoulder. Nevada stretched her body, and even raised her heels off of the ground, to accommodate the tall woman. She held Iowa's head in an embrace. "Let's just take one step at a time."

* * *

 **A/N: Just like Iowa, I feel horrible for not remembering Nevada's crewmember, even though I met him once.**


	8. The Doolittle Raiders

**A/N: April 9, 2019**

* * *

The Doolittle Raiders

-8-

15 April 2019

Door knocks reverberated through the foreigner dormitories at Yokosuka. After several moments of silence, the knocks sounded again. This pattern repeated in Taigei's ears as she walked through the halls with a food tray in her hands. She turned the corner and found _Brooklyn_ -class light cruiser Nashville knocking on a room door.

"Hornet, come one! You've been in your room all weekend!" Nashville said.

"Good morning, Nashville- _san_ ," Taigei said.

"Oh, ohio, Taigee…Reeyouho…!" Nashville swallowed and took a deep breath through her nose to compose herself. The woman before her did not have on her robes, but rather her sailor uniform and apron. "Taigee?"

"Either is fine," Taigei said gently.

Nashville made a nervous smile. "Is that for Hornet?"

"Yes," Taigei said. "Last week I saw her walk in with sixteen boxes of model B-25 Mitchells. 'One weekend of work, here I come!' is what she said. I saw the look on her face. It's the same as the submarines when they get a project started. I offered to bring her food for the weekend, and she said 'Yes, please' and 'Thank you.' I would leave the tray on the table." Taigei nodded her head at the small hallway table next to the door. "Knock on the door, and check after a couple of hours."

Nashville nodded understandingly. "Sixteen B-25 models, huh?"

Taigei nodded.

"Her last Raider passed away a few days ago. Maybe she has something planned for the 18th."

"Maybe." Taigei placed the tray on the table and knocked on the door. She turned and walked down the hall.

"You know, the Doolittle Raid can be considered a failure," Nashville said when she caught up to Taigei. "A couple damaged buildings and a hit on a converted submarine tender." Nashville playfully nudged Taigei with her elbow.

"But it is a victory for boosting the American morale," Taigei said. "And considering the Abyssal War, morale is very important."

"Well, when you put it that way, I guess…" Nashville blushingly put her arm behind her head.

Their voices faded down the hall when Hornet opened her door. She picked up the food tray and walked back into her room. She placed the tray on her bed and started taking bites out of the food. She separated small portions out of her meal and gave it to a team of five pilot fairies, who happily nibbled at the morsels.

Hornet's room was brightly lit. Her window was open, and she had three fans on, all on the slowest settings. One was her ceiling fan, another stood at the back of her coffee table, and one was on her windowsill facing outside.

Her flight deck lay on her coffee table. '8' was emblazoned on the bow, and the island stuck up on the left. There were fifteen B-25Bs lined up on the deck. They were painted an army green and fitted with the pre-1942 USAAF roundel. A pile of miniature, fairy-sized .50 caliber machine guns had grown next to the island.

Hornet finished her meal and let her fairies ride in her hands to her desk, which was filled with paint, paint brushes, glue, and model parts. The fairies hopped off of her hand and began messing with a pile of toothpicks and black paint.

Hornet got back to work, placing modeling clay over sections of unassembled model parts, and began painting.

* * *

After several hours of meticulous work, Hornet finally finished her sixteenth, and last, B-25B. Removing some tape and clay from the tail revealed an expertly painted tail number; 02344. Hornet held the aircraft in her hand and looked it over. Then she looked at her fairies. One of them was holding up two modified toothpicks triumphantly. The fairies jumped onto Hornet's hand before she walked to her coffee table and knelt down. The fairies jumped onto the flight deck, and Hornet placed the B-25 at the front of the other fifteen bombers. The fairies jumped into the bomber.

As the fairies worked their magic, Hornet looked her finished bombers, all finished to painstaking detail.

#40-2268, tail number 02268, "Bat Out of Hell"  
#40-2267, tail number 02267, "TNT"  
#40-2297, tail number 02297  
#40-2247, tail number 02247, "The Avenger"  
#40-2278, tail number 02278, "Fickle Finger of Fate"  
#40-2249, tail number 02249, "Hari Kari-er"  
#40-2250, tail number 02250  
#40-2303, tail number 02303, "Whirling Dervish"  
#40-2242, tail number 02242  
#40-2261, tail number 02261, "The Ruptured Duck"  
#40-2298, tail number 02298, "The Green Hornet"  
#40-2283, tail number 02283  
#40-2282, tail number 02282  
#40-2270, tail number 02270, "Whiskey Pete"  
#40-2292, tail number 02292

And finally, at the front:

Doolittle's B-25, #40-2344, tail number 02344

The B-25 glowed for a couple of seconds before the light faded. The fairies climbed out of the bomber. Two of them carried one miniature .50 caliber each and dumped them onto the pile of machine guns. They lined up in front of the bomber and gave a thumbs up.

* * *

18 April 2019

"General quarters! General quarters! All hands, man your battle stations!" Hornet bellowed.

Her fairies came out of her equipment's hangar. They ran to the B-25s waiting on Hornet's flight deck and started preflight preparations.

Hornet was off of the San Diego coast in full combat gear. With her was Enterprise, heavy cruisers Salt Lake City, Northampton, and Vincennes, Nashville, destroyers Balch, Benham, Ellet, Fanning, Grayson, Gwin, Meredith, and Monssen, and fleet oiler Cimarron, with Mississinewa standing in for their sister, Sabine.

Surrounding them were spectators on privately own vessels and a couple of ferries and tour boats. Several Shipgirls with cameras were around, too. The spectators have been following the girls of Task Force 16 and 18 since they left San Diego.

One by one, the engines of the B-25s sputtered to life. Before long, the engines gave a steady roar.

"You're full into the wind!" Enterprise shouted.

Hornet raised her right hand. She looked around her.

"Let's go!" Hornet slammed her arm down and pointed forward.

Her replica of Doolittle's bomber released its brakes. The bomber hurtled down the runway and lifted into the air.

* * *

 **A/N: The last Doolittle Raider, Lieutenant Colonel Richard Cole – copilot of at-the-time Lieutenant Colonel James Doolittle of lead B-25 #40-2344 – passed away today at age 103.**


	9. 47

**A/N: April 19, 2019**

* * *

47

-9-

Iowa calmly paced up and down her Broadway. Memorial services and events were being held on the main deck, but she needed some time alone. Almost every visitor gave their condolences, their sympathies, and even apologies. Iowa figured no one meant her any harm or disrespect. But to be reminded of the accident every few seconds, while the main event for today was dedicated to the accident, has taken its toll. She found herself in the living quarters at Frame 79 on the starboard side.

Something was amiss.

She walked to a specific bunk and toggled the light switch.

 _Click-click. Click-click._

Iowa pressed her lips together into a straight face and walked out of the compartment, passing the bullseye on the way out:

2-79-1-L  
FR79-87  
G-2 DIV

Iowa climbed onto the main deck and headed towards the aviation locker near the aft gangplank. She sourced a screwdriver and a lightbulb before climbing back down to Deck 2.

Back in the living quarters, she reached the same bunk and began unscrewing the light cover. She replaced the bulb and screwed the cover back into place. She turned the bunk light on.

 _Click._

On the bare metal, written in black ink:

IN MEMORY OF GmG2 Clayton M. Hartwig  
T-2 4/19/89  
R.I.P BROTHER

A solid black heart accompanied the message.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Today's the 30** **th** **Anniversary of Iowa's explosion in Turret 2.**

 **In memory of the 47 men who passed on April 19, 1989.**

Fire Controlman 3rd Class (FC3) **Tung Thanh Adams**  
Gunner's Mate 3rd Class (GM3) **Robert Wallace Backherms**  
Electrician's Mate, Fireman Apprentice (EMFA) **Dwayne Collier Battle**  
Gunner's Mate 3rd Class (GM3) **Walter Scot Blakey**  
Gunner's Mate 3rd Class (GM3) **Pete Edward Bopp**  
Seaman Recruit (SR) **Ramon Jarel Bradshaw**  
Lieutenant, Junior Grade (LTJG) **Philip Edward Buch**  
Seaman Apprentice (SA) **Eric Ellis Casey**  
Gunner's Mate 2nd Class (GM2) **John Peter Cramer**  
Gunner's Mate 3rd Class (GM3) **Milton Francis Devaul Jr.**  
Seaman Apprentice (SA) **Leslie Allen Everhart Jr.**  
Boatswain's Mate 2nd Class (BM2) **Gary John Fisk**  
Seaman (SN) **Tyrone Dwayne Foley**  
Seaman Apprentice (SA) **Robert James Gedeon III**  
Seaman Apprentice (SA) **Brian Wayne Gendron**  
Seaman Recruit (SR) **John Leonard Goins**  
Electrician's Mate 3rd Class (EM3) **David L. Hanson**  
Gunner's Mate 1st Class (GM1) **Ernest Edward Hanyecz**  
Gunner's Mate 2nd Class (GM2) **Clayton Michael Hartwig**  
Legalman 1st Class (LN1) **Michael William Helton**  
Seaman Apprentice (SA) **Scott Alan Holt**  
Seaman Recruit (SR) **Reginald L. Johnson Jr.**  
Seaman Apprentice (SA) **Nathaniel Clifford Jones Jr.**  
Seaman (SN) **Brian Robert Jones**  
Seaman (SN) **Michael Shannon Justice**  
Seaman (SN) **Edward J. Kimble**  
Gunner's Mate 3rd Class (GM3) **Richard E. Lawrence**  
Fire Controlman, Seaman Apprentice (FCSA) **Richard John Lewis**  
Seaman Apprentice (SA) **Jose Luis Martinez Jr.**  
Boatswain's Mate 3rd Class (BM3) **Todd Christopher McMullen**  
Seaman Recruit (SR) **Todd Edward Miller**  
Legalman 1st Class (LN1) **Robert Kenneth Morrison**  
Seaman (SN) **Otis Levance Moses**  
Gunner's Mate 3rd Class (GM3) **Darin Andrew Ogden**  
Seaman (SN) **Ricky Ronald Peterson**  
Gunner's Mate 3rd Class (GM3) **Mathew Ray Price**  
Seaman Recruit (SR) **Harold Earl Romine Jr.**  
Gunner's Mate 3rd Class (GMG3) **Geoffrey Scott Schelin**  
Gunner's Mate 3rd Class (GM3) **Heath Eugene Stillwagon**  
Seaman Recruit (SR) **Todd Thomas Tatham**  
Gunner's Mate 3rd Class (GM3) **Jack Ernest Thompson**  
Gunner's Mate 2nd Class (GM2) **Stephen J. Welden**  
Gunner's Mate 3rd Class (GM3) **James Darrell White**  
Seaman Recruit (SR) **Rodney Maurice White**  
Boatswain's Mate 2nd Class (BM2) **Michael Robert Williams**  
Seaman (SN) **John Rodney Young**  
Senior Chief Gunner's Mate (GMCS) **Reginald Owen Ziegler**


End file.
